


Maleficar, or What It Means To Be A Mage

by n7chelle



Series: The Wolf in Sheep's Clothing [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Parents, ELI5: Dragon Age Edition, F/M, Gen, Mages (Dragon Age), Solas told the truth!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:33:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23191702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/n7chelle/pseuds/n7chelle
Summary: Kids are legendary for asking tough questions out of the blue. Solas handles one such question after Delytha gets her curious little hands on the Chant of Light.
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas
Series: The Wolf in Sheep's Clothing [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1155020
Kudos: 11





	Maleficar, or What It Means To Be A Mage

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a drabble for a certain writing group. (Y'all know who you are. <3) The drabble version (prompt: magic) ended with Delytha's question unanswered, but afterwards I kept thinking about what Solas might say. And tbh I'll take any excuse to keep writing about Solas being a good dad. (❁´◡`❁) Also I think everything else in this series is written in present tense, which uh...just didn't happen with this one. Oops.

"Da," Delytha said one day, plunking herself down on the scaffolding beside Solas as he painted, "what's a…a _melficar_?" 

Solas froze. "Where did you hear that word, _da'len_?" 

"Sawed in a book."

" _Saw it_ in a book. And why do you ask?" 

Solas had begun to occasionally ask the children why they were curious about a thing; tiny lessons in critical thinking, without feeling like lessons. Delytha screwed up her little face in concentration. She looked so much like her mother, dark-haired and serious. 

"Didn't like the way I felt after readin' it," she finally answered. "Is magic…bad?" 

Solas inhaled sharply, setting aside his paints to give Delytha his full attention. The blue cotton of her tunic bunched up between half-tense fists, and a frown marred her child-round features. Anger flashed through him at the sight, directed at the Chantry and their scripture for putting doubt on his daughter's face and in her mind. It seemed a more formal lesson was in order after all, lest that doubt take root. 

Solas uncurled Delytha's hands from where they worried at her tunic, not bothering to magic his own clean. She never minded a bit of dirt under her nails or paint on her skin. Though she hadn't yet asked if she could add something of her own to the never-finished mural in the library rotunda, he felt certain that day was coming. Delytha delighted in having palms and wrists smeared with half-wet pigment, tracing designs up and down her forearms with her fingertips. Her offers to assist Solas in his painting were generally motivated by this goal, and the scaffolding had played classroom to many impromptu lessons in recent months. 

None so important as this one, however.

"Close your eyes, _da'len_. Picture an apple tree," Solas said. Delytha squeezed her eyes shut. "What happens when apples are ripe?" 

"Um…they fall down?" 

"Yes—now picture yourself sitting under this tree, and an apple falls down and hits you right here." He tapped lightly on the crown of her head. 

"That'd hurt!" 

"It would, yes. Now a question: did the tree mean to hurt you with that apple?" 

"No…" Delytha said slowly, mouth twisting as she attempted to puzzle out the goal of this exercise with only half the pieces. She was eager for knowledge, but not always patient enough for the time it took to gain. "Trees can't decide to hurt people, they're just trees," she decided. 

"What about the apple?" 

"It just fell down 'cos it was ripe, not 'cos of me."

"And what if you picked up the apple, and threw it at your brother?" 

"I wouldn't do that!" Delytha gasped indignantly, eyes flying open. 

"Of course not, bad example," Solas chuckled. He pressed a kiss to his daughter's furrowed brow. Best to keep Darien and injuries—even hypothetical ones—out of the picture if he wanted to make any progress with this particular lesson. No one, save Roiya and himself, of course, was more fiercely protective of Darien and his quiet, gentle nature than his own sister.

"Let's say someone _else_ picks up the apple, and throws it at you." 

"Wouldn't be very nice of them." 

"Indeed, it would not. So you ask the person who hit you with the apple to apologize, but they say it wasn't their fault. It was the apple's fault for being so hard, and the tree's fault for dropping the apple where they could reach it." 

"That doesn't make any sense," Delytha said, crossing her arms over her chest. The sides of her tunic became smudged with paint.

"Alright, one last example: imagine this person is a mage, but instead of an apple, this mage conjures a ball of ice and throws that at you." Delytha winced at the phantom blow. "Is the magic at fault, or the mage who hit you?" 

"The mage! Magic didn't _make_ them hit me."

"And there, _da'len_ ," Solas said, smoothing her perpetually tousled and windblown hair, "you have your answer. Magic is just a tool, like a quill or a hammer. It cannot be good or bad on its own—only used by people with good or bad intentions."

"In…tentions?" Delytha said, sounding out the unfamiliar word. 

"It means a plan, a thing you want to do," he explained. Delytha nodded after the briefest consideration, giving a little contemplative hum that meant she understood.

"Then when I become a mage, I'll always make good intentions!" she declared.

" _Have_ good intentions," Solas corrected, even as the declaration filled him with a warm swell of pride. There was only the slightest bitter twinge at how simple the world seemed through a child's eyes. 

Again he saw the look of her mother in the determined set of his daughter’s jaw, her down-turned brows. Innocence softened the reflection, however, as Delytha had none of the unflinching severity that had borne Roiya through the final stages of the Inquisition's campaign against Corypheus. It was an expression Roiya herself made less and less with each passing year. Solas found that he didn't miss it. He was gladder to see the hard edges of war and strife blunted by years of peace; to see her smile without it being a shield, a misdirection to camouflage the toll on her conscience from carrying the expectations of the Inquisition—of all of Thedas—on her shoulders. 

Their deadliest battles were behind them, or so Solas dearly hoped. With any luck, Delytha would not have occasion to use the magic he would someday teach her in defense of her own life. 

The outer door of the rotunda opened and closed, and Solas welcomed a distraction from the unpleasant turn his thoughts had taken. Light footsteps pattered up the hall and into the chamber, before a small voice came from the base of the platform. 

"Da! Mama says it's dinner time." 

Solas leaned out to see Darien looking up at him, hands braced on a low rung of the ladder. Pale blue flowers peaked over the shell of one ear, entwined in a crooked braid that mirrored the style Roiya had once favored. 

"Come up, _da'len_ , your sister is here as well." Once Darien had scaled the ladder and settled next to Delytha, Solas regarded them in silence for a moment. 

One day they would have to learn the truth, both of them, of the terrible potential they possessed. Their magic would be of Elvhenan, not bound by the limitations faced by mortal mages, and they would not have the luxury of treating it as a mere tool. For now it was enough that Delytha did not fear or despise magic, nor the inevitable manifestation of her power. With Darien he was less certain; there was hesitation in his spirit, and Solas could not yet see what effect that would have. 

But today… Today magic would be an opportunity for a little harmless fun. 

Solas held out his hands for his children to take. "Shall we join your mother for dinner?" he asked, favoring them both with a mischievous wink. Twin smiles were his answer. 

A rush of wind encircled the three of them, and in the next moment the scaffolding was empty, save for a dwindling flicker of emerald green light.


End file.
